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And let’s start with the more . . . more photos and info on previous posts.    CCGS Samuel Risley appeared here.  She’s currently approaching the Soo.  What I didn’t know when I posted a photo of her on Lake Ontario is that she was returning from her first trip to Greenland (!!), where she was providing icebreaking support for a supply mission to Qaanaaq aka Thule.

Madison R–and I’ll do a whole post about her soon–now calls Detroit her base, I’m told.

Summer fog veils a Canadian cat and an Erie Canal buoy boat above E11.

How many folks pass by Day Peckinpaugh each summer and have no clue what she is (ILI 101… launched in May 1921!!), how long her work history  (1921–1995) has been, how wide a range of waters  (Duluth to Havana, I’m told) she covered, where her sister  (ILI 105) languishes . . . . .

She gets attention.

Here’s the blue-and-gold yard above E3!!

Yup that’s Urger among them.  And yes, the pause button on scuttling has been activated.

In the legends of Ford, a sign once marked this power plant adjacent to the Federal Lock in Troy as a Ford facility.   Could this have become the location of Ford’s imagined electric car plant?

And this brings us to Troy, these walls where construction workers have staged their equipment.

Scaffold, ladders, floats, and Jackcyn

 

 

and Lisa Ann.

All photos by Will Van Dorp, who’s been working his way back to the sixth boro from the heartland.

If you’re local and would like to learn more about the New York State Canals, consider joining the Canal Society and coming to their fall conference . . .  on Staten Island.  I’ll be involved in two events . . .

 

Yup . . . that’s a crankshaft.  And yup, that’s a full size 6’2″ version of myself.

Here’s the connection to the title.  Yankcanuck . . . cool word.

From 1963 until 2016, she worked in different trades, even spending some time in the Arctic.  With her interesting history, I’m glad that a portion of her has been preserved for folks like me who missed her arrivals into Detroit, for example, and can now learn of her.  Preserve, preserve, at least some parts.

These photos by Will Van Dorp, who’s now facing a corrupted card.

SS and then MS Norgoma worked for Owen Sound Transportation Company from 1950 until 1974.  Now it’s been voted out of town.

I hope something can be learned from the public process that “directs staff to look for options to remove the former steamship.”  A public process is to be admired.

All photos by Will Van Dorp, with thanks to Greg for suggesting I look her up.

 

Preliminary question:  Where in the world is Alice Oldendorff?  Answer follows.

This profile below–not Alice— might make you imagine yourself in the St Lawrence Seaway or the Great Lakes.  But I took this photo on the Lower New York Bay yesterday.  I had not caught a self-unloader of this style in the Lower Bay since 2007!

A CSL self-unloader does call in the sixth boro occasionally.  Here’s a CSL post I did in 2010, photos in the sixth boro.

She headed into the Narrows loaded down with

aggregates from Aulds Cove in Nova Scotia.  And I’m guessing that’s here, place I hope to visit some day.

Besides stone, self-unloaders locally also offload salt, as here H. A. Sklenar and here Balder.

 

The photo below I took in July 2009, again a self-unloader bringing in aggregates,

a task usually done by fleet mate  Alice Oldendorff, who surely has had enough exposure on this blog.  Don’t get me wrong . . . Alice is also a self-unloader, but she had other cranes as well, as you can see from the photo below, taken in 2009.

Where is Alice?  Well, she’s 300 miles from Pyongyang.  THAT Pyongyang.

Here’s a little more context, showing Pyongyang to the right and Beijing top left, and heavy ship traffic.

Alice made her last stop here a couple months back, then she headed through the Panama Canal to Qingdao for some rehab.  Qingdao is also spelled Tsingtao, like the beer.

She’ll be back come summer.

All photos by Will Van Dorp.

 

Before 2000, the Canal was operated by the Panama Canal Commission; beginning on January 1, 2000 (Y2K), the Commission was replaced by the Panama Canal Authority (ACP).  It appears the first tugs purchased by the ACP were from Canada, specifically from Irving Shipbuilding.  One was Colón.  It arrived in Panama in late 2001.  

We encountered this tug near the Atlantic Bridge project, which will span both the 1914 locks and the latest set, Aqua Clara on the north end.

Compared with the US-built ones in yesterday’s post, the Canadians are about 5′ longer and 2′ wider. Colón is rated at 54 tons bollard pull generated by two Deutz SBV-8M-628s produced 4400 hp transmitted by Schottel SRP 1212s with Kort nozzles.

Coclé, shown here in Miraflores Lake, was the other tug in that contract.

Herrera, shown here assisting a bunker from the Miraflores lock to the Pedro Miguel, fits the same dimensions and arrival time in the Canal, although I’ve not sure how to explain how the Irving order went from two to more.

All photos by Will Van Dorp, who offers more tomorrow.

 

I saw a train of these in Quebec and then an identical train in Montreal, doing on an airport what tugs and icebreakers do on the nearby rivers.

Any ideas on the manufacturer?  I guessed Bombardier . . .

This photo I took last summer in upstate NY near the snowiest town in the state, but this is for clearing roads and streets, not airports.

The one above is an Oshkosh, so how about this one?

Here’s the answer.  I’d have guessed Oshkosh, which started up in 1917, but Klauer made it.  

So the two photos at the top of the post are Oshkosh Extreme Runway System units aka XRS.  For Canadian airports these seem the right stuff.

All photos by Will Van Dorp, who occasionally slurs his title to truckster.

For some other Oshkosh snow machines and much more, click here. Then scroll.   And more, here.

 

Thanks to Marc, I offer this post that could also be called Océan Blue 7.

Arranged chronologically, these photos nicely show the intrusion of ice on the Saint Lawrence.

Starting on October 12, 2017, it would be t-shirt weather on Ocean Duga

taken in port of Sorel-Tracy.  Duga (4000 hp from 2 Wichman 7-cylinder engines) was built in Lansten, Norway in 1977.  Notice laker Tecumseh at the grain dock;  I took photos from the river of Ojibway at that same dock less than a week earlier.

Hercule, taken on November 11, 2017, enjoys autumn warmth here.  Notice the Jamaican flag on her mast just below the conical roof of the silo?  She’s been sold out of the Ocean fleet, but here are all five of her former names, including a stint as a McAllister of Canada vessel.  Here’s more McAllister history.

Ocean Bravo was already scraping some ice on her hull on December 26, 2017.  Built in 1970 right across the river from Quebec City, the 110′ x 28′ tug is powered by 3900 hp.  I photographed her in Trois-Rivieres in October.

Ocean Bertrand Jeansonne is a 5000 hp tug built in PEI for Ocean in 2008.  This photo was

taken the day after Christmas.  Federal Tweed, as of this moment,  is anchored

off Sorel. This jetster photo nicely shows the Richelieu River, the outflow for Lake Champlain.

Ocean Delta is another vessel no longer in the Ocean fleet.  The 136′ 1973 tug is rated at 6464 hp, launched in Ulsteinvik, Norway.  Birk got a photo of her here in 2012.

taken the day after Christmas.  It appears that CCGS Tracy has been converted into a floating office for Ocean Group and renamed Ocean Tracy.  I got a photo of CCGS Tracy when she was for sale in October 2016 here.

On December 30, 2017 Ocean Tundra was heading upstream to help clear the last vessels out of the Seaway before it closed.  Recall the assistance Federal Biscay required to get out?   Note the sea smoke as the 8,046 hp vessel exposes the relatively warmer water to the seriously cooler air.

Imagine what all that ice does to the hull coatings, particularly at the bow.

And finally, we’re up to January 31, 2018, as La Prairie muscles through the ice.

I appreciate these “seasonal change” photos taken by Marc Piché, a glimpse of traffic in winter on the mighty Saint Lawrence.

Few things about flying rival “window seat,” as they complement my lifelong fascination with maps and, later, charts.  Of course, few things are as frustrating as realizing I’m sitting on the wrong side of the airplane and can’t just run to the other side.  Anyhow, let’s play a game of window seat IDs of photos of the flight from NYC (LGA) to Quebec City with a change in Montreal.  See what you can identify here, and then I’ll post them again with annotations/identification.

#1

#2

#3

#4

#1 again.  From left to right is downstream.  Red number 1 is the South Shore Canal, the downstream-most canalized portion of the St. Lawrence Seaway.  Red number 2 is the Lachine Rapids, so-named by Jacques Cartier and the whole reason for the locks at this location.  Cartier thought the route to China lay above the rapids, hence, La Chine.

#2 again.  Again, from left to right is downstream. Red number 1 is Habitat 67, 2 is a certain icebound brand-spanking-new US warship that will be left unnamed, 3 is the old port of Montréal, 4 is a lock in the Lachine Canal, and 5 is a certain formerly McAllister tugboat.

#3 again.  Here, bottom to top is downstream.  Red 1 is one of many random bits of ice flowing downstream toward Quebec City more or less at the location of Saint-Augustin-de-Desmaures, where the St. Lawrence is about two miles wide, i.e., half mile chunks of ice.

#4 again.  Red 1 is the Citadelle, 2 is Chateau Frontenac, 3 is the entrance to Bassin Louise i.e.,  a location in the ice canoe racing posts, and 4 is the bulk and containerized port of Quebec City. The long unmarked structure between 3 and 4 is the now G3 grain elevator.  To see a G3 (Global Grain Group) ship on Lake St. Clair, click here and scroll.

All photos and attempts at identification by Will Van Dorp, who’s also responsible for any misidentifications or omissions. And if you ever decide to buy me a ticket to fly somewhere, make mine a window seat or cockpit jumpsuit.

Here’s an index of my jester posts, which started summer of 2017.

 

This is the grande finale, although you’ll notice I didn’t know when the finalization would  . . . finalize.  Spotters on the bow of the safety boat watch the canoeists through the snow squalls.

And at 31 minutes after the start, the first boat  (Archibald micro brasserie) returning from the Lévis side comes into view,

pursued by two others.

Archibald lands and races home….

 

with the next two running close together.

Three more arrive closely clumped.

 

 

But that’s when I realized I’d missed an important detail:  they make more than one lap!  Notice the Archibald team heading back out!  Later I believe I understood they were disqualified, although I didn’t understand why.

Now I understand that it’s more a marathon than a sprint.

 

 

At this point I head back to point 1 (See yesterday’s map.) to watch from the start/finish line.  Notice the three incoming boats from over by the pine trees where I got the previous photos from.

The two teams push their canoe past the two 8200+ hp behemoths  

to take the checkered flag.  By this time, I’ve lost track of who’s who and in what place.

Here’s a tavern to help you celebrate.  Care for a glass of Caribou?  Click here to learn the secret of the incongruous plastic canes I saw a lot of men carrying.

I headed up the street past the ice taverns so that after tasting something I had to go only downhill to my snowcave.

These ice bars–I was told–go up around Christmas and by March start to melt.  For now, they are exquisite.  And the bottles to the right of Jaegermeister are local spirits:  Quartz, Chic choc rum, Coureur des bois whiskey, and Ungava gin.

As I said, from the ice bars it’s downhill to my snow cave inside the walled city and return to hibernation.

All photos by Will Van Dorp.  For more photos, click here.  For a video clip of the snow bath–I did NOT indulge–click here.

For some photos of a clear winter’s day in Quebec City last year, click here.  For more frozen St. Lawrence riverbanks photographed in 2017, click here.

 

The premier event of Carnaval de Québec has become ice canoeing, a unique sport stemming from early French settlement along the St. Lawrence:  in summer boats connected the opposite sides of the river, and in winter sleds traversed, but during the times between, canoes alone could provide this contact.  The need for treacherous crossings ended after the introduction of steamboats and building of bridges.

Now, hazards are addressed, and a total of 290 canoeists raced this year, 58 canoes.  Rules require that canoes weigh at least 225 pounds and provide a prescribed amount of flotation.

Use the map below to orient yourself.  The top three photos I took standing at point 1 looking toward the river.  Here a crane lowers a canoe onto the frozen portion of outer part of Bassin Louise.

See the pine tree cluster in the photo above?  That’s point 2.  U is upstream (to the right) and D, downstream (to the left).  The race happened on an ebb tide, so ice floes moved at 4 to 5 knots from U to D.  Obviously, since the race is from 1 to 2 to 3 for four crossings, racers leave the bassin and turn upstream, making the course triangular.

 

The rest of these photos I took from point 2, over near the pine trees.  Here the safety tug Ocean Henry Bain departs the bassin to break up ice that’s gathered at the opening over the past hour.

You can barely make out the city of Lévis–marked as 3 on the map–on the other side.

The bonhomme banner flies from the mast.

After the third prolonged blast from Ocean Henry Bain, the first racers–the elite women’s teams– depart, five -person crews wearing spiked crampons push the waxed bottomed canoes to open water.  The technique here is this:  keep two hands and one knee on the boat at all times in case your boot goes through.

Note the crowd;  numbers estimation has become a contentious sport in itself, but I’d guess 10,000 spectators braved the cold to be there.

Here the transition from pushing to rowing–with spiked oars–

begins.

Ten minutes later, other teams head out, again after a third blast from Ocean Henry Bain. 

Only the crew member at the stern has a paddle, rather than an oar.

Recall that at this point, crews turn upstream to contend with the 4 to 5 knot current;  the water flows that fast, and any ice chunks there do too.  So the technique here is to get momentum upstream ASAP.

Or else.  Here the blue canoe–heading for the tug, i.e., the wrong direction, got pushed downstream by that ice floe.  The red canoe also going the wrong way got turned by the blue canoe.  The three teams on the ice need to get to open water upstream ASAP because they are floating downstream.

Click on the photo of Jean Anderson below to get the article I’ve copied it from, but you’ll have to translate it.  Anderson is ice canoeing royalty,  a perennial champion of this event, as well as an innovator of gear for the sport.  Jean and his brother Jacques are mentioned in this article in English.

If you decide you have to witness ice canoeing, four more races are coming up in the next 30 days:  Montreal Feb. 11, Isle -aux-Coudres Feb. 17, Sorel-Tracy Feb. 24, and the grand championship back at Bassin Louise March 3.

All photos by Will Van Dorp, who wonders what other unique sports events like this there are . . .  All I can think of right now are woodcutters festival like the one in Tupper Lake and Boonville and the Iditarod.  Surfing maybe?  Schooner racing?  Eleven Cities Tour? Bronc riding?  Help me out here.

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